A Drop In The Ocean
by Sunrise-Rose1023
Summary: "A drop in the ocean, a change in the weather. I was praying that you and me might end up together. It's like wishing for rain as I stand in the desert, but I'm holding you closer than most, because you are my heaven." Sequel to "Darkness On The Edge of Town." After Lydia leaves Tree Hill, Jude and her family try to cope.**RATED M FOR A REASON**
1. Intro

**By popular demand, here is the sequel to "Darkness On The Edge Of Town"! I wanted to take this opportunity to say THANK YOU SO MUCH to my loyal readers who hung in there with me through the good and bad of that story. I read all the reviews (Honest!) and I am so appreciative of each one. Sometimes you guys even give me ideas, so keep up the good work! ;)**

**This story takes place right after "Darkness" ended. I'm trying something a little different, so please let me know what you think. Lydia, Jude, and Sawyer are going to be writing journal entries as parts of their treatments and trying to cope with what happened. In between the journaling, the story will progress. I'll do my best to make it obvious when the journal stops and the story begins. **

**While writing "Darkness," I stumbled upon a song that I believe is just PERFECT for Jude and Lydia. It's called "A Drop In The Ocean," by Ron Pope, and it is actually where the title of this story comes from. If you want, go give it a listen, and imagine Jude and Lydia. But have some Kleenex handy.**

**AS A REMINDER, this story is rated M for a reason. This story will include mentions of suicide, depression, drug use, and self-harm. If these are a trigger for anyone, please turn around now. If not, thank you for reading! I'm looking forward to the reviews already! :)**


	2. Angel Flying Too Close To The Ground

**"If you had not have fallen, I would not have found you...****"  
_Angel Flying Too Close To The Ground, _Willie Nelson  
**

_LYDIA_

My mother killed herself when I was a year old.

Well, that's a hell of a way to start this out. Hmm. Maybe I should start over.

My name is Lydia Scott. I'm sixteen years old. I live in Tree Hill, North Carolina. Well, I usually do. When I'm not institutionalized, like I am at the moment. I have an older brother, Jamie, who plays in the NBA. He'll probably never talk to me again, and frankly, I don't blame him. I wouldn't talk to me either, if I had the choice.

Maybe that's why I can't talk now.

Anyway. Back to … Introductions or whatever. I was raised by my aunt and uncle, Clay and Quinn. They have two kids, cousins that feel more like siblings to me. Logan's heading to the NFL any day now, and Riley's two years younger than I am. I have a couple of other aunts and uncles. Uncle Lucas and Aunt Peyton, and Aunt Brooke. Brooke's not actually related to me, but Lucas is my dad's brother, and was my mom's best friend. He and Peyton have Sawyer and Ellie. Sawyer's my age, and my—well, she _used _to be my best friend. Brooke has Davis and Jude, who are twins, and Meg.

Jude. God, I miss him. He'll probably still talk to me, because for some ungodly reason, he has it in his mind that he's in love with me. I would pray he'd come to his senses, but I'm pretty selfish. And I doubt anyone would listen to me if I prayed, anyway.

Jude makes me feel better, and I'm sure if I could love anyone, it would be Jude. I just don't think I'm capable of it. What's all that bullshit they say, "You have to love yourself first?" I don't. I'm a horrible person. I don't understand how anyone can love me at all. Jude's blind to the bad, though, and I guess I'm thankful. If he really knew me, the way I know me, he'd get the hell out as quickly as he could. And I wouldn't blame him, not one bit.

Let's move on to the big issue here, shall we? Doing so brings us back to my opening sentence, about the mother I never got to know.

Haley James Scott swallowed a bunch of pills and took a swan dive into the pool when I was a year old. Her fault.

Three months prior, my dad was shot and killed. Not his fault.

And I, being the spitting image of my dear, sweet mother (something I'd been told all my life) decided to take a page from her book and, long story short, that's how I got these lovely scars on my wrists. My fault.

Naturally, I failed at something else. The biggest "something," but still. And that's how I found myself in this quaint little mental hospital in Columbia, South Carolina. A whole state away from my troubles. Only problem? My troubles are me. And I'm still here.

My fault.

* * *

**"I'd rather see you up than see you down****."  
****_Angel Flying Too Close To The Ground_, Willie Nelson**

_SAWYER_

My name is Sawyer Brooke Scott. I am sixteen years old, and I live in Tree Hill, North Carolina. I have two awesome parents and a little sister who drives me crazy. I have the best boyfriend, and really good friends. My life is pretty great.

And my cousin tried to commit suicide a little over a month ago.

Which of these things doesn't belong?

I am so mad right now. I am mad at Lydia. Everyone keeps saying that she's sick. She needs help. Well, yeah. I know. I've been knowing that for months, but everyone kept acting like everything was okay. And then we get a phone call that she slit her wrists in the damn bathtub.

I feel bad for being as mad as I am. The therapist, counselor, whoever the hell she is says that being angry is a natural part of this. How sad is it that there's a "natural" way to feel whenever someone does something as unbelievably selfish as this? I hate to say it, but it's just stupid. This is a stupid thing that Lydia did, and I am not okay with it. I'm pissed the hell off at her.

It's hard. Being back at school. Being in Tree Hill, period. Being with Jude, who just looks so lost and is trying so hard to be strong. Being with Davis, who is taking this really hard. I don't really understand that. Yeah, we're all friends. Davis and Lydia weren't exactly close. Neither are Jude and me. And that's okay. But to see Davis squeeze his eyes shut every time he passes by her locker, when all I want to do is ram my fist into it? That's hard.

The hardest thing ever is being around my dad.

He blames himself. Mom keeps telling him that it's not his fault, he's not to blame, but he does. He stays up so late at night, and I honestly don't even know if he sleeps. He's … He's drinking a lot, and that is so unlike him. I mean, sure. He and Mom drink every now and then. But I've never seen him drunk. Not once in my entire life, and now … It's like every night, he's got a glass of something near him.

I can hear him sometimes, talking to Mama when they think Ellie and I are asleep. Well, Ellie usually is asleep, so it's just me, eavesdropping. I've done it my whole life; they should be used to it by now. And I did something I've never done before.

I snuck into his office, where he does all his writing. Ellie and I have been given explicit instructions our entire lives that Daddy's office is off-limits. It's not like we'll bust in there and leak his new book online or something. It's just his space. The one place he has all to himself. In a house full of women, you really can't blame him. Well, I picked the lock on the door yesterday and went to his desk. I don't really know why I did it; I just did. Anyway, I went digging through the desk drawer and I found a letter. A long, handwritten letter from Dad to Uncle Nathan. Lydia's dad. The one that's been dead for almost seventeen years.

In the letter, Dad told Uncle Nate about pretty much everything. Ellie and I. Lydia and Jamie. Things that stick out from our childhoods, like when were five. In the same week, I broke my arm, and Lydia ran into Mouth's truck and got a black eye. And the time Jamie got his first speeding ticket and Dad made him mow practically the whole town's yards to make the money to pay it off. And then it kind of switched. He apologized, like a million times. For not being there to help Aunt Haley. For not taking Jamie and Lydia and raising them himself. For letting this happen to Lydia.

And that just made me even angrier.

He didn't "let" anything happen to Lydia. Lydia _did_ this _to_ herself. This is Lydia's fault. She chose to do an incredibly selfish, stupid thing, and the blame is on her, not anyone else. It's not fair.

Then again, what is, really?

* * *

**"So leave me if you need to. I will still remember angel flying too close to the ground."  
_Angel Flying Too Close To The Ground, _Willie Nelson  
**

_JUDE_

I have never been a fan of writing. I'm all right at it, I guess, but I don't do it just for the hell of it. The counselor thought it would be a good idea, though, so Mom bought me this. She thought it was "so cute with Superman on the front," and I didn't have the heart to remind her that I'm nearly seventeen. Just said thank you and went on. And now, I'm actually using it. God.

How am I supposed to do this? What is proper journaling behavior? Is there like an outline that I should go by? Do I just dive right in? Maybe that would be the best route to take. Okay. Here goes.

I have been in love with Lydia Scott for as long as I can remember. Seriously. She's beautiful and smart, funny and kind. She is everything I could have ever wanted, and for some reason, she wanted me back. And then she

Okay, no. This isn't going to work. I can't do this. This is stupid! Who decided this is a good form of treatment or coping or whatever? I can't even say it out loud. They think writing it down will help me? No, thanks. I had to live it, and that was more than enough.

Shit.

I hate this. I hate everything about this. I hate this past month, and the month before it. I hate basketball and stupid basketball games. I hate bathtubs. I hate hospitals. I hate everything.

Well, not everything.

Not Lydia. God, I miss her.

I miss the way her hair smells. I miss the way she fit just perfectly by my side. I miss the way she made me feel like I was on top of the world whenever I could make her smile. I miss her laugh. I miss those stupid high heels she would always wear because she was so damn short. I miss the way she'd cling to me when I kissed her. I miss the way her soft hands felt against my chest, the way her head would rest right over my heart. I miss holding her while she slept.

How could she have done what she did?

No. No, I … I'm done for today.


	3. Broken

**"The worst is over now, and we can breathe again."  
_Broken, _Seether feat. Amy Lee  
**

_LYDIA_

So the doctor—can't seem to recall her name right now—decided it would be a good idea for me to write down my feelings. Gag me. She probably thinks that because I won't talk. I just don't have anything to say. Of course, though, the shrink must overthink and analyze everything. So here we are, writing down my feelings in this cute little journal provided by the hospital. It's navy blue. Whatever. I picked this one because it blends in with the mattress in my room and it's easily hidden. When Doctor Who (hey, look, I made a joke) "suggested" the journal thing, I agreed to it. Chose a bright red book, because I figured I'd have to turn it in or whatever so they could read it and make sure I'm not still suicidal. Lucky for me, I'm a damn good actress. I write whatever I think they want to hear in that journal, then write the truth in this one. And I hate to admit it, but it kind of feels good.

Here's what's bothering me (besides the obvious):

I'm stuck in this place with no way out.  
I haven't seen or heard from Jude in the nearly two months that I've been here.  
I can't talk to tell Clay and Quinn how much I hate them.

That last one seems kind of harsh. (At least, that's what I'd say if I gave a damn.) Honestly, I am so mad at them. They actually thought it would be a good idea to separate me from the one person I can breathe around? They actually thought the trip would be better if it was just us, in our happy little family? No. Actually, not just no, but _hell_ _no._ I guess that's why I lost it.

All of a sudden, I just couldn't. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think. I couldn't see. I could hear, hear them telling me that everything would be okay, I'd see him in a few weeks once I was better. And that was … That was too much for me to deal with. I couldn't bear it.

For some reason, this sticks out in my mind: I remember screaming.

Sometimes I said words, but most of the time it was just noise. I ripped the bandages off of my wrists, and let me tell you something. That hurt like a bitch. My hands are feeling better now, but at the time… I don't even want to think about it. That's how bad it hurt. But I got the bandages off, and my wrists were already bleeding by the time I got to the stitches. I was screaming and crying while I pulled the stitches out, and to be completely honest …

I don't know why I did it.

It was stupid, and probably the reason the scars are so prominent now. It hurt, and all I was doing was putting myself through unnecessary pain.

Wait, maybe that's why.

It had been going on for months. The pain was a reminder that I was still alive, as much as I hurt and just wanted everything to go away. The pain kept me grounded, and I guess … Maybe I was looking for that? I was hurting already, in my heart, being ripped away from Jude the way that I was, and I guess I needed the physical reminder of it.

Maybe this journal is good for something after all.

Anyway, after I pulled the stitches out—which was no easy task with numb fingers, let me tell you—Jenny stuck a needle in my arm and pumped me full of some kind of something. I don't remember what it was, and I doubt she even told me, but the weird thing is … I don't remember what happened after that. It's like my mind is just blank. I can't remember getting out of the car or checking in. Walking to my room, unpacking, saying goodbye… I don't remember any of it. I don't remember anything up until last week, when I figured out that puzzle on _Wheel of Fortune_ in the den-area thing down the hall.

It kind of bothers me, the way my mind is just a total blank. I've been drunk before. God knows I've been high. But it's never gotten to the point of me blacking out. That's what my memories are, though. Just blacked out. Kind of makes me wonder … What happened? And that raises another question:

Do I really care?

* * *

**"I want to hold you high and steal your pain."  
_Broken, _Seether feat. Amy Lee  
**

_JUDE_

You know what intrigues me? Routines. The way everyone has one, whether they want to or not. Even in trying not to have one, you still have one. They can get thrown way the hell off course, and sooner or later, you get back on track.

Our routine was jacked up for a while. Once that Saturday afternoon occurred, it felt like the whole world got flipped around. We didn't go to school. I didn't do my daily routine of getting up, showering, and going to school or work, depending on the day. In the afternoons, we didn't do homework or take Meg to whatever activity she had on schedule. And she does a lot. Who knew eleven-year-olds had such busy schedules?

Anyway, that week Lydia was in the hospital, I was there with her. Every spare second I could be, I was there. Spent the night with her a couple of nights. I didn't go to school, and neither did Davis and Meg. Sawyer, either. I didn't really care about school. Or work. Or anything other than Lydia.

Then she was gone. I was left in the parking lot, watching as they drove away with her. That was the hardest thing I've ever had to go through. The divorce wasn't this bad. Dad packing up and moving literally across the country wasn't this bad. Having to stand there and watch as she called for me, as she cried, as she laid her hand on the window, reaching for me?

I can't put into words what I felt. How I still feel, whenever I think about it. There's just this ache, this emptiness, and I'm afraid it may never go away. I know it won't, not as long as she's there and I'm here.

I was pissed at Mom when we got home. I locked myself in my room and stayed there for the entire weekend. Davis made sure I had food and water, and I could hear Meg's soft footsteps as she crept to my door and put her ear to it, before she'd sigh and walk away. Mom wouldn't let me wallow anymore after that, and we had a long talk that Sunday night. She let us stay out of school until Wednesday, and the teachers were extra supportive about catching us up.

I also find it kind of funny that Mom went through the house and threw away all the razors. Sawyer said Peyton did the same thing, and I'm sure Quinn did, too. Now, Davis and I have to share this electric razor that leaves us both with a constant five-o-clock shadow.

That's not funny at all. That's morbid, and I'm going to hell for it, I'm sure.

Anyway, Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays are the busiest now. Every day, I get up, go to school, and work at the café when school's out. Fit homework and working out in there somewhere. Cart Meg around to whatever she has to do. And aside from all that, on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons, we all get to gather at the therapist's office and talk about our feelings.

I hate that.

Seriously. Who wants to go talk to some stranger about all the shit in their life? I get to sit on an uncomfortable couch that hundreds of people have probably sat on before me and tell this old chick my story? No, thanks.

The weird thing is, the counselor hasn't asked me about Lydia. What's really weird is that we don't even talk about her. We haven't for the entire month I've been going there. She wants to know about school, what sports I play (ha ha, NONE.). What my interests are outside of school. Do I play an instrument, what music do I like, my car. What I want to be when I grow up, where I'd like to go to college. I notice this because Lydia is always on my mind. Always, okay? And not talking about her ... Well, I'm not going to lie. It's hard, but at the same time, it's kind of ... refreshing.

And that makes me feel like an awful son of a bitch.

* * *

**"I'm broken when I'm lonesome, and I don't feel right when you're gone away."  
_Broken,_ Seether feat. Amy Lee  
**

_SAWYER_

I snapped at Ellie today. She didn't even do anything. We were just at the kitchen table, doing homework like we always do. She was muttering under her breath, because she literally cannot sit in complete silence. She was talking to herself, singing so softly I could barely hear her, and I just snapped.

I don't even remember what I said. I remember it was loud, and horribly mean. Mom whirled around from the stove, eyes wide at me. Dad came in from the living room, glass in hand, mouth open, eyes narrowed at me. And Ellie…

The look on her face…

I hurt her feelings. Really badly. I didn't mean to. I certainly didn't want to. But I did. And then I just stood up and walked out. Like nothing had happened at all. I got in the car and drove here, to the Rivercourt.

That was hours ago. I've been sitting on these damn, cold, uncomfortable bleachers for hours. I watched the sun go down a little while ago. Finally pulled this journal out as the lights came on.

I can't stop crying.

I've been crying since I walked out of the house. Ugly tears, too. There are tear stains all over these pages. And I can't stop. I've tried. It hurts, from way deep down in my chest. I feel awful, for hurting my baby sister the way I did. I can't stop thinking about when she was little, when she was annoying and on my last nerve and she wouldn't stop playing with MY toys. Dad took me aside and told me a story, about how when he was little, all he wanted was a brother. Someone he could play with, share his toys with, someone that would get on his nerves the way my sister did me. But he didn't get to grow up with his brother. They didn't get to really be brothers until they were older, and then Uncle Nate died.

Something resonated in me when he told me that story. I was four, Ellie was two. And all I could imagine was, "What if something happened to Ellie the way something happened to Uncle Nathan?" From that moment on, annoying little sister or no, Ellie was still my sister. And I loved her, and I was going to cherish every moment I had with her as long as I could. Then today happened.

I can't get that thought out of my head now. "What if something happens to Ellie the way something happened to Uncle Nate?" What if the last thing I said to my baby sister was … whatever I said at the kitchen table? What if what I said makes her go and do something like Lydia did?

What if something I said was the reason Lydia did what she did?


	4. What Hurts the Most

**"What hurts the most is being so close and having so much to say..."  
_What Hurts the Most_, Rascal Flatts**

_LYDIA_

Three months. Ninety days. Two thousand, one hundred and sixty hours, give or take a few. That's how long I was supposed to be in this hellhole. And guess what?

Yesterday started month number four.

Apparently, I'm not progressing the way I should be in my therapy. Obvious reason would be that I'm not talking. Not just that I'm not talking about what happened, why I did what I did. But the fact is … I'm just not talking. At all. I haven't said a word since they brought me here. And it isn't really even that I'm not talking.

I _can't._

I've tried. I want to, but I just can't. And I can't explain it, either. What if that medicine Jenny injected me with broke my voice box? (Okay, so I know that can't really happen, but… Humor me.) Now …

I've been looking forward to busting out of here for the entire time I've been here. Three months was the deal. After that was up, I could go home. I could see Jude. I would be better.

Why can't I do anything right?

* * *

**"It's hard to deal with the pain of losing you everywhere I go, but I'm doing it."  
_What Hurts the Most, _Rascal Flatts**

_JUDE_

She's not coming home.

Quinn stopped by the café this afternoon, and she and Mom sat in a booth for a long time, just talking. I didn't go to them, mainly because I'm still so mad at Quinn. Yeah, maybe I should be mad at Mom because she went along with it, but I just can't. If anything, Brooke has been the best mother. She's the only thing I've been able to count on for my entire life, so this one little slip-up is forgivable, in my opinion. And she was just doing it because Clay and Quinn wanted her to, so they're the ones to blame, not Mom.

Anyway, Mom came to talk to me after Quinn left. She said Lydia's treatment isn't progressing the way they want it to. It's not progressing at all, actually. She isn't talking. Not a single word.

I don't understand this. Why isn't she doing what she needs to do? Doesn't she get that as long as she acts this way, they won't let her come home? I tried to talk to Mom, tried to get her to let me go see Lydia. If I could just see her, just talk to her for a minute, I know she'd be all right. But Mom said the doctor won't let her have any visitors. Apparently, seeing me or Quinn or Sawyer would do more harm than good, which I think is complete bullshit. Wouldn't keeping us apart be worse than letting us see her? What do the doctors know, anyway?

Apparently nothing, since Lydia won't talk to them.

I wonder if she'd talk to me. I'm sure she would. She always did before. I was the only one she'd talk to in the hospital. I've always been the only one she'd talk to, about anything. I ...

I miss her.

* * *

**"I'm not afraid to cry every once in a while even though going on with you gone still upsets me."  
****_What Hurts the Most_, Rascal Flatts**

"Hey J—Hey."

Jude froze, setting the pen down, closing his journal. He turned in his desk chair, seeing his twin brother leaning against the doorframe. Davis' cheeks were flushed, probably from the greeting he'd almost let slip out. When Kevin Parker said it to Jude one day at school, Kevin had found himself on the receiving end of a bloody nose. It was the way Lydia always greeted him, and hearing it from someone else's mouth had just caused something to snap in Jude. After that, everyone watched what they said.

"Hey, Davis."

Jude turned back to his desk, and when his brother stayed quiet, Jude turned back around.

"Everything okay?"

Davis took in a deep breath, letting out a long breath.

"Not—not really. I, uh… I need to talk to you."

Jude pushed a smile on his face.

"Well, that's never good."

He motioned for Davis to come in, and he did, taking a seat on Jude's bed and looking down at his hands. Jude didn't say anything, and finally, Davis let out a shaking breath, lifting his head, tears in his bright blue eyes.

"I can't do this, Jude."  
"What?"

Davis took in another shaking breath, and Jude left his desk chair to sit on the bed with his brother. Davis closed his eyes, and a tear slid down his cheek.

"It hurts. Everywhere I go in this town reminds me of her, and it hurts, man."  
"I know, Davis. Believe me, I know, but it's—"  
"No, it's not. It's not going to get better."

Davis stood up, harshly wiping his hands under his eyes. Jude pressed his fingertips together as Davis stalked to the window, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared out to the yard. Meg was on the swingset they'd gotten the Christmas she turned three, when Davis and Jude were eight. She was just sitting on the swing, slowly going back and forth, digging the toe of her shoe in the dirt. Davis watched her, and Jude spoke quietly.

"You … You've been taking this hard."  
"I know."

Davis' voice was barely a whisper. He looked back to the bed, meeting Jude's dark eyes, then shaking his head.

"I don't really understand why."  
"She's your friend, Davis."  
"Yeah, but she … She's so much more than that to you, and you're doing the best out of all of us."

Jude smiled, shaking his head.

"Maybe on the outside."

Davis shook his head again, letting out a sigh.

"I was, uh … I was thinking … yesterday … that—that maybe I …"

Davis was staring at the floor now, talking to it rather than Jude, who narrowed his eyes.

"What were you thinking, Davis?"

Davis looked back up, meeting Jude's eyes, his own filled with tears again.

"I'm a horrible person."  
"Stop that."  
"No, I'm serious. What kind of a person would leave at a time like this?"  
"Whoa, what?"

Davis sighed, closing his eyes. Jude got to his feet.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Davis sighed again, shaking his head.

"She's not coming home. She's not getting better."

Jude closed his eyes.

"I know, man. I was there. I heard what Mom said."

Davis nodded.

"I don't know, I just … I thought … I thought this would help."

He looked back out the window, blinking at the rush of tears that came to his eyes again. His voice was rough as he spoke again.

"I really thought she'd get better, and she's … She's just not. She's not even trying."  
"Don't … Don't say that. Please."

Davis glanced back at the bed, seeing Jude's dark eyes pleading with him.

"She's trying. She has to be. She's going to get better and come back to us, and we'll be fine."

Davis nodded, then shook his head.

"I think you're living in a fantasy world."

Jude's mouth fell open, and Davis squeezed his eyes shut.

"No. Damn it. That's not—that's not what I wanted to say. Please. Jude, don't—"

Davis sighed, pushing his hands through his hair.

"I don't want to fight with you."  
"Then don't be a fucking asshole, you jackass."

Davis sighed again.

"School is out in a week, man. I was … I was hoping things would be …"

Davis pushed his hands through his hair, shaking his head.

"Why is this so hard?! I don't get it!"  
"If you figure it out, will you let me know?"

Davis met his brother's eyes, and he let out a long, ragged sigh.

"I'm just tired, Jude. And I know you are, too. It's just … I really thought things would be different than they are. I need … I think I just need a little while away from here to breathe."

Jude was staring at the floor.

"So you're going to go stay with Dad."

It wasn't even a question. Jude knew before Davis could even say it. Davis sighed, nodding his head, speaking softly.

"Yeah. I, uh … I'll spend the summer with him and Alex, and be back for school in the fall."

Jude nodded. Davis swallowed, then spoke softly again.

"Please say something."  
"I didn't think I had anything left. Thought I'd gotten everything out with Lydia. But I, uh … I was wrong."  
"Jude."  
"This hurts."

Davis squeezed his eyes shut.

"Please don't say that. I won't go. I'll stay. You—you need me here, so I'll just—"  
"Davis. You have to go."

Davis shook his head as Jude got to his feet.

"I'll stay here."  
"You need to go."  
"Jude—"  
"Stop. Hey."

He laid his hands on his brother's shoulders, watching as Davis took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

"I get it. I do, I promise. This entire situation sucks balls, okay? There is nothing that we can do to make it better, except to figure it out on our own."  
"I don't want to leave you if you need me."

Jude forced a smile on his face.

"I don't want anything to happen to you, all right? I think … I think some time away will do you good. You can clear your head and come back with a fresh mindset."

Davis nodded.

"Yeah, and—and I bet Lydia will be coming home the same time, too."

Jude nodded, turning to wrap his brother in a hug. He squeezed his eyes shut at the way Davis hugged back, hard, before stepping back, wiping his face with his hand.

"I, uh… I need to go talk to Sawyer."

Jude nodded.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Jude looked up at his brother, pasting another smile on his face.

"Yeah, man."

Davis nodded, turning to leave the room. He held a hand on the rail beside the stairs, looking at his brother until Jude rolled his eyes, smiling as he motioned for Davis to go. He smiled as he jogged down the stairs, and Jude waited until he heard the front door open and shut.

He stumbled over to his desk chair, gripping it tightly. He let out a shaky breath. What the hell was going on here? Davis was leaving? Jude shook his head. He walked out of the room, walking down the stairs and to the kitchen without even realizing what he was doing. He got a glass out of the cabinet, filling it up with water. He took a sip before gripping the edge of the counter, then turning on his heel and hurling the glass at the wall. It shattered, broken glass covering the floor, water droplets falling from the wall. Jude whirled around when he heard the gasp.

Megan stood at the back door, one hand on the knob, dark eyes wide. Glass glittered the ground at her feet. Jude let out a sigh.

"I'm sorry. Meg, wait. Meg!"

She turned and ran from him, and Jude hung his head. He kept his feet flat on the floor, crouching down as low as he could get, covering his face with his hands. He heard the front door open and close, and he didn't look up as he heard his mother's heel clicking across the floor. She stopped in the kitchen.

"What in the world?"

Jude let his hands drop from his face as she rounded the bar, looking up to see her look from the pile of shattered glass to him. She didn't rush to him, like he was almost sure she would. Brooke set her purse on the counter and walked over slowly, crouching down beside him. She reached over, brushing her fingers through his hair.

"Talk to me."

Jude shook his head, wrapping his arms around his knees. Brooke sighed, sitting back and smoothing out her skirt.

"Honey, come on, now."  
"How can you just let him go?"

Brooke smiled softly.

"That's what I thought this was about."

Jude shook his head as tears welled up in his eyes.

"I already lost Lydia. She's gone, and I didn't even get to tell her goodbye. And now Davis is just going to leave? Mom, that's …"

He shook his head again, and Brooke gently rubbed a hand up and down his back.

"Honey, you have to see he's having a hard time with this. He came and talked to me, and we've talked to your dad. The counselor thinks it would be a good idea, too."

Jude nodded, shaking off her hand and standing up. He walked over to the counter, laying his hands on it.

"I'm sure sending him somewhere that it's not breathing down his neck every day would be a fantastic idea. Hell, Mom. Why don't we all go? We could take a vacation to somewhere warm and sunny and not even think about the way our lives are fucking shattered."  
"Jude Baker, I let you get away with a lot, but you will not use that language in front of me."

He hung his head as she stood up.

"I'm sorry."

He felt her hand on his back again, squeezing his eyes shut as fresh tears came.

"I know that this is hard. It is unbelievable to me, and I cannot begin to imagine what you must be going through. But honey…"

Brooke took hold of his shoulders and forced him to turn around, to look her in the eye.

"Jude, your brother is suffering, and in a big way. You've seen it; I know you have."  
"Are you scared, Mom? You afraid he'll do something like Lydia did?"

Brooke let out a breath.

"No. No, I don't think he'd do …"

She shook her head, and Jude lifted his eyes to hers.

"Then again, you never thought Lydia would, did you?"

Brooke blinked, leaning forward and wrapping her arms around Jude. He squeezed his eyes shut, then wrapped his arms around her.

"Mom."  
"I'm right here, baby."

He hugged her tighter as the tears slipped down his cheeks. Brooke sighed as she rubbed her hand up and down his back.

"I don't have the answers here, Jude. I don't know what to do, either. I just think this is what's best for Davis right now. He may get there and want to come right back home."  
"What if he does?"

Brooke pushed back, looking Jude in the eye and smiling.

"Then I'm expecting you to ride to the airport with me to pick him up."

Jude smiled, and Brooke ran her hand across his hair.

"We're going to get through this, okay?"

He nodded, then followed Brooke's gaze as she looked at the pile of broken glass. Jude let out a sigh, running his hand over his face.

"I scared Meg. I wasn't even thinking. I just threw it. I didn't look to see where she was. I thought she was outside."

Brooke let out a sigh.

"Where is she?"

Jude motioned towards the back door.

"She ran back outside before I could get to her."

Brooke nodded, then walked to lay a hand on Jude's shoulder.

"Why don't you go and check on her, and I'll clean this up."  
"Mom, I'll get it. You don't have to—"  
"Jude. Go get your sister."

He nodded, sidestepping the glass as he walked out the door, to the swingset. Just as he figured, he could hear the sniffles from the little "tree house" above the slide. He stepped over, smiling when he realized he was now eye-level with the window. He gently rapped on the side of the structure.

"Meg?"

He didn't get an answer, but the sniffles stopped.

"Come on, Meggie. Talk to me, please?"

He saw her eyes in the window, close to the bottom.

"Go away!"

Jude sighed.

"Come on, Meg. I'm sorry I scared you. I didn't mean to. I didn't know you were there. You sneak up on me like that all the time."  
"Why did you do it?"

Jude shrugged his shoulders.

"I was mad."  
"At me?"

He shook his head.

"No, kid. Not at you."  
"At Davis?"

Jude sighed.

"No, not at him either. I just … I guess I'm just mad in general. I shouldn't have thrown the glass."

He didn't hear anything for a minute, then Meg poked her head out just above the slide.

"You promise you're not mad at me?"

Jude smiled.

"What would I have to be mad at you about? You haven't done anything. Have you?"

She shook her head.

"Well, there you go."

She nodded, then let out a sigh. Jude stepped closer to her.

"What?"

She looked up at him, chewing on her bottom lip. Jude reached out and thumbed her chin, making her smile as he popped her lip out from between her teeth. He leaned closer to the slide.

"What is it?"  
"I just don't want you to feel bad. It was an accident."  
"What?"

Meg sighed as she moved her legs out, sitting at the top of the slide. There was a cut along her leg that was bleeding, and a piece of glass embedded in the bottom of her foot. Jude let out a breath.

"Christ, Megan."  
"It's okay, Jude."  
"No, it—no, it isn't."

He moved, taking her in his arms, holding her against his chest as he carried her in the house. Meg wrapped her little arms around his neck, and Jude opened the door, walking over and sitting her on the counter.

"Mom!"

Brooke walked back into the room with the vacuum cleaner in her hand, seeing Jude's wide eyes.

"What?"  
"Meg. Mom, she—her foot is—"

Jude was panicking, breathing hard, eyes wide as he looked from Meg to his mother. A chill rolled down Brooke's spine.

"Honey, calm down."  
"Mom, you—you have to help her! She needs you to—"

He shook his head, blinking hard as he gasped for breath. Meg's eyes were huge as she watched him, and Brooke tried to stay calm, even as she knew he wasn't in the kitchen with them anymore.

"Jude, breathe. Everything is fine. She's all right."  
"She's bleeding. She's—there's … There's so much blood."

He was whispering now, eyes glazed over. He continued to shake his head, his whole body trembling now. Brooke took a step towards him, then stopped. Jude wrapped his arms around his stomach, squeezing his eyes shut, continuing to whisper about the blood. Meg had her eyes closed tightly, hands over her ears, knees drawn up to her chest on the counter. Brooke swallowed, stepping over to Jude.

"Jude. Look at me."

He shook his head, going on about the blood, looking down at his hands as his eyes widened. Brooke's heart was breaking. She spoke again, harsher than before.

"Jude Baker, look at me. Now."

He brought his wide eyes to hers, not even realizing there were tears coursing down his cheeks. Brooke took a step closer to him.

"Everything's okay."  
"She's bleeding. Mom, she's bleeding and she needs—"  
"It's all right, Jude."  
"The blood. There's—there's just so much—"  
"No, it isn't."

He brought his eyes to hers again, and Brooke gave him a smile as she cupped his face in her hands.

"She's all right, Jude. You helped her."  
"She's bleeding."  
"Just a little bit."  
"It's all over the bathroom."  
"No, honey."

Brooke shook her head, letting go of Jude's face and taking his hands in her own. He tried to pull them away, but she held on tightly.

"Meg's right here, on the counter. We're in the kitchen, remember?"

Jude looked around, like he hadn't realized where they were. He met Brooke's eyes again, and her soft smile.

"In the kitchen?"

She nodded. Jude spoke again, his voice low and shaky.

"She was bleeding."  
"Just a little bit. It's just a little cut, honey."  
"But there … She was … It's Meg?"

Brooke nodded.

"It's just Meg."

Jude nodded, slowly. He repeated the words Brooke had just said, looking over to the counter, finally seeing his little sister, curled into a ball with her hands over her ears, rocking back and forth.

"Just Meg."  
"Yes."

Jude swallowed, letting out a long breath. He turned his eyes on Brooke.

"Am I going crazy?"

She smiled, unable to stop the tears from welling up in her eyes. Jude let out a ragged breath as she wrapped him in a hug. He buried his face in her hair, breathing shakily a few more times.

"Sweetheart, you have been through a horrible ordeal that I cannot even imagine. You are doing so good."  
"I could see her, Mom. It was … It was just like before. Like I walked into that bathroom and she was in the bathtub."  
"No, honey. You're here. With me."

Jude exhaled, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Meg's hurt."  
"Not bad."  
"She is bleeding."  
"Just the tiniest bit."  
"It's because of me."  
"What?"

Brooke pushed him back, and Jude let out a ragged breath.

"I threw the glass, and she—she cut her leg on it. There's a piece in her foot."  
"Oh, honey. No."

Brooke shook her head.

"That is not your fault. Stuff like that happens."  
"She could have gotten really hurt."  
"She didn't."

Jude sighed, and Brooke laid a hand on his cheek.

"Count your victories, Jude. Meg's fine. Couple of Band-Aids and she'll be good to go. She probably doesn't even need that."  
"But I—"  
"But nothing. She's okay. You're okay."

Jude closed his eyes, nodding. Then he spoke in barely a whisper.

"I don't feel okay."

Brooke closed her eyes, letting out a sigh at the pain in her heart. She opened her eyes again to see her son, the strong, six-foot, three-inches-tall young man staring at the ground, a broken look on his face, begging her to fix it, and she didn't have the slightest idea how. She leaned forward, looping a hand around the back of his neck and tugging him down where she could kiss his forehead.

"Go to the living room and sit on the couch. I'll be in there in just a minute, okay?"

He nodded, and Brooke kissed his forehead again before he walked away. She let out a sigh, pushing her hands through her hair before she walked to the counter. She laid a hand on Meg's back, and her dark eyes flew open as she looked up. Brooke gave her a smile, then closed her eyes again as Meg wrapped her arms around her mother's waist, putting her face in Brooke's shirt and crying. Brooke fought back the tears, lifting her head as she wrapped her arms around Meg, gently rubbing the little girl's back and brushing a hand through her hair.


	5. Total Eclipse of the Heart

**"It must have been love, but it's over now."  
_It Must Have Been Love, _Roxette  
**

Davis blew out his breath, looking down at his phone again. He hadn't replied to the latest text message, because he just couldn't find the words.

How do you tell someone goodbye without it sounding like it's over?

He sighed again, setting his phone on his knee and pushing his hands through his hair. He thought about standing up, turning around on the bleachers and tossing his phone into the river, but what good would that really do? Nothing at all. And he'd be out a phone. So he just sighed again, running his hands over his face, trying not to pay attention to the way his entire body seemed to itch with the urge to get up and go.

But he couldn't go. He couldn't run. Not from this. It was time to man up.

He looked down at his phone, seeing the time he received the message and the time it now was. Guess more time had passed than he thought. He started typing a reply, stopping when he looked up, seeing the headlights of a car shining in the waning sunlight. He stood up, feeling his mouth go dry as he saw the curly blonde head pop out of the driver's side. The smile lit up her face as Sawyer walked over to him, chewing a piece of gum.

"Hey, you goof."

Davis smiled at her, leaning forward to accept the kiss she gave him. She climbed up, sitting on the bleachers beside him. She scooted over, laying her head on his shoulder, and he smiled.

"How'd you know I was here?"  
"Because it isn't my first day with you?"

He looked down, and she smiled up at him, blowing a bubble and sucking it back into her mouth with a loud crack.

"You always come to the Rivercourt to think. By your texts, I deduced that you were thinking about something, and when you never texted me back, I decided to come to you."

Davis nodded, looking out over the basketball court, at the large arch near where Sawyer had parked. The letters in the arch, still shiny after all these years, read NATHAN SCOTT MEMORIAL RIVERCOURT, and sent a pain through Davis' heart. He cursed under his breath, and Sawyer sat up.

"Hey. What's up with you?"

Davis looked over to her, then hung his head as he let out a long breath.

"Saw, we uh … We need to talk."

Blue eyes went wide, and not a word was said. She stopped chewing on the gum, and the only sounds were the wind through the trees and the steady flow of the river behind them. She blinked three times, then turned to face forward.

"Well. That's never good."

Davis sighed, pushing his hands through his hair again. He stood up, walking down the bleachers and standing on the court.

"Hey."

He turned back, and Sawyer just stared at him.

"Whatever it is, we … It'll be okay, Davis."

He nodded, turning away from her, pushing his hands through his hair once again. He stopped, turning back, and cursed again as he walked back over, up the bleachers, taking Sawyer's face in his hands and kissing her. Her hands came up to rest on his arms, and he finally pulled back, resting his forehead on hers. They were both breathing hard, and Davis just decided to say it.

"Saw, I'm going to L.A. for the summer."

Her eyes blinked open, and after a second, she pushed back, throwing Davis off-balance for just a moment.

"What the hell did you just say?"

Davis sighed.

"Listen—"  
"No. No, you … You have got to be fucking kidding me!"

She stood up, pacing the bleacher for just a moment before she turned back to him, fire in her blue eyes.

"You're leaving?"

He let out a breath before nodding. Sawyer blinked her eyes wide, then set her hands on her hips. Davis stood up, speaking softly.

"Sawyer—"  
"Why? Why would you go now?"

Davis let out a breath at the pain he saw in Sawyer's eyes. He took a step towards her, holding out a hand, and she stepped back, blinking the tears away.

"Tell me, Davis."

He let out a sigh, turning to look out over the basketball court.

"I just … Everywhere I look around here reminds me of Lydia. She's all over this town. Hell, even here. This place is named after her dad. It's like I can't get away from it, the reminder of her and what she did, and I can't breathe. I just … I just need to breathe."

He turned to look at Sawyer, taken aback by the look on her face.

"You son of a bitch. Are you kidding me? You 'need to breathe?' So do I, Davis! So does your brother! You remember him, right? The one who found Lydia, pulled her out of the bathtub after she tried to kill herself?"

Davis closed his eyes, lifting a hand to his chest at the off-hand way Sawyer said her last sentence. She shook her head.

"Don't you think Jude needs you right now?"  
"You think this was an easy decision to make? I'm having a really hard time with this, Sawyer."  
"Yeah, join the club."

She turned away, walking to the end of the bleacher section she was standing on. She turned back to Davis, nodding her head.

"So you're running away because it's hard for you to think of Lydia?"  
"No, that … That's not what I said."  
"Really? 'Cause that's what I heard."

Davis shook his head, a disbelieving look on his face.

"Why are you being so cold about this?"  
"Because my big, strong boyfriend is telling me how he's running away with his tail tucked between his legs because 'it's hard.' That's pathetic, Davis."

He blinked bright blue eyes, shaking his head.

"Wow. You … Wow."

Sawyer shrugged her shoulders, glancing back at the river. She crossed her arms over her chest as Davis watched her.

"Sawyer, look. I … I don't want to leave like this. I feel like shit for even thinking about leaving, but … I can't stay here. Maybe—maybe you could come with me."

She shook her head, letting out an unamused chuckle.

"You see, Davis, the thing is … I don't want to leave. I have family here that needs me. I have a little sister who has no clue just how bad of a shitstorm our lives are right now, and I need to be there for her. You know the feeling, right? Only you're skipping out on your little sister."  
"That's not fair!"  
"Well, life's not fair, Davis. Haven't we witnessed that firsthand?"

Davis nodded, biting on the inside of his cheek, trying to calm himself down.

"I get that you're upset."  
"Upset? You think I'm … Oh my god."

Sawyer reached up, pushing her hands through the riotous curls on her head.

"I think I bypassed 'upset' when my best friend slit her wrists in a bathtub, okay? I am pissed the fuck off! We're all trying to figure out what to do, where to go from here, and you decide _now_ is a good time to get the hell out of dodge?"  
"I'm not doing this on purpose, Sawyer. I didn't wake up this morning and decide, 'Oh. Now would be a good time to ruin Sawyer's life.'"  
"Really? 'Cause you can't tell that from where I'm standing."

She walked down the bleachers, down onto the court, and Davis stood in the stands, taking in deep breaths, letting them out slowly, trying to calm himself down. Sawyer let out another unamused laugh, letting her arms fall to her sides as she turned to look at Davis.

"What do you know? Looks like you're more like your father than any of us realized."

Davis went still, anger turning his blue eyes hard.

"What did you just say?"  
"Your hearing is fine, Davis. But if you'd like me to repeat myself—"  
"Shut up, Sawyer."  
"I said that you're just like your dad. If I remember correctly, which I know I do—"  
"Watch it, Scott."  
"It was when things got a little tough that Julian skipped town, right?"

Davis swallowed, hands clenching into fists at his sides.

"And now, looky here. Like father, like son."  
"Damn you, Sawyer."

She smiled, hiding the pain in her heart by lashing out at Davis. She nodded to him speaking as she turned to leave.

"Run away, Davis. See if I give a fuck."  
"You're a bitch."

She stopped, whirling around to face him.

"I'm not the one running away!"  
"I'm not running away, goddamn it! I'll lose my mind if I stay here!"  
"Keep telling yourself that. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Davis shook his head, disbelief coloring his features.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Sawyer rolled her eyes, and Davis made his way down the bleachers.

"I'm serious. What's made you into this … this angry little bitch?"

Sawyer shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't know. I guess … I guess people I thought I knew continue to prove to me that I don't know anything at all. So why give a damn, when it doesn't matter at all in the end?"

She shrugged again, turning and walking away. Davis shook his head.

"I don't even know who you are right now."  
"I can tell you who I'm not. I'm definitely not your girlfriend anymore."

Sawyer walked over to her car, unlocking and opening the door. Davis tossed out his arms.

"So that's it? You're breaking up with me because I'm leaving?"  
"Leaving when I need you the most? Yes. Yes, that is why I'm breaking up with you."  
"Sawyer, come on."  
"Davis…"

They stared at each other for a full minute, before Sawyer spoke again.

"Go fuck yourself."

She spat her gum at him before she climbed in the car, starting it up and speeding away without a single look back. Davis stood on the Rivercourt alone, blinking as the lights came on. He looked up, squinting, then back in the direction Sawyer had just driven.

That was when he realized he wasn't alone.

"Owen?"

Owen Morello lifted a hand, sticking it back in the pocket of his jeans as he slowly made his way to Davis. Davis looked to the river, speaking low.

"How long have you been here?"  
"Oh, long enough."

Davis sighed again, dragging a hand over his face. Owen gave a sigh of his own, stepping up and putting a hand on Davis' shoulder. Davis shook his head, walking back to the bleachers as Owen followed him. They sat, not saying anything, and Davis covered his face with both hands, irritably tapping a foot on the court. He let his hands fall and looked to Owen.

"Shoot straight with me."

Owen nodded, and Davis let out a breath.

"Am I doing the wrong thing?"

Owen sighed.

"Davis…"  
"I know, I know. You can't tell me. I have to make my own decisions. But I swear to God, Owen."

He shook his head, letting out an unamused laugh.

"If I don't get a moment of clarity, I'm going to lose my goddamned mind."

Owen let out another sigh, glancing down at the court, then back to Davis.

"I'm the first one to say I'm not the one to be giving advice. But honestly … I think you need to go."

Owen glanced over, seeing blue eyes staring back at him, begging for something Owen wasn't sure he could give. He swallowed, going on.

"I've seen you, bud. You're struggling. I think some time away is what you need."  
"But my mom—"  
"Will be just fine."

Davis nodded.

"You'll take care of her."

Owen nodded, smiling at the way Davis put it as a statement, not a question.

"And … and Jude? And Meg?"  
"They'll be okay, too. I'll take care of them."

Davis nodded again, letting out a shaky sigh.

"Am I a bad person? You know. For leaving."

Owen leaned over, putting an arm around Davis' shoulders. Davis bit his lip hard at the sudden rush of tears to his eyes.

"I am just like my dad, aren't I? Taking off when things get rough."  
"Hey."

Davis looked up at Owen, who shook his head.

"Leaving doesn't make you a bad person. And I don't know your dad, or the story there. But in that sense, leaving when things are rough? You're not like him. You've tried to deal with this. It's just ... It's an impossible situation, kid. And this time … Leaving is showing that you're strong."  
"I don't feel very strong."  
"Give it time."

Davis smiled at that, letting out a sigh as he leaned over, laying his head on Owen's shoulder. Owen blinked, then tightened his hold on Davis. He nodded, and half an hour later, Owen followed Davis into the house. Brooke stood up from the couch, blinking when she saw Owen, a wide smile crossing her face.

"Hey."

Owen walked to her, kissing her gently on the lips, wrapping an arm around her as he stood beside her. Brooke looked from him to Davis, who was standing on the steps, looking down at his feet. Brooke and Owen exchanged a glance, and she sighed.

"How'd it go, bud?"

Davis looked up, shrugging his shoulders.

"She hates me."  
"No."  
"Mom, she said it. She's pissed at me, and she broke up with me, and said she hates me."

Brooke sighed, and Owen gently rubbed her back. Davis glanced up the stairs, then let out a sigh.

"I'm going to go pack my stuff."  
"Davis…"

He turned away, walking up the steps. Brooke stared after him until she heard the bedroom door shut, and she closed her eyes. She felt Owen's hands on her arms, gently rubbing up and down, and she let out a shaky sigh, turning around, putting her face in his chest. He let his arms come around her, one gently rubbing her back, the other cradling the back of her head. Brooke let out another shaking breath, letting her hands come up Owen's back, holding him to her, fingers digging into his shoulder blades.

"Brooke, hey. It's okay."  
"No, it isn't."

Owen sighed, resting his head atop hers.

"I know. But it's going to be."  
"He's hurting so badly, Owen. They all are, and I don't … I don't know how to fix it. It's my job to fix it, and I can't this time."  
"Honey—"  
"No, you don't… You don't get it."

She stepped away from him, and he watched her, pacing slowly in the living room, bathed by the soft light of the candles she'd lit on the mantle.

"All their lives, I've been the one to make it better. To fix it. If they fell off their bikes and scraped their knees, I was the one they came to. One little kiss and a Band-Aid, and they were fine. If they got a bad grade, I was the one they came to, and sitting with me, talking to me, letting me tell them that it's not the end of the world, they would be fine. When Julian…"

She stopped, shaking her head, then pushing on.

"When Julian left, for months, I had two little boys that just stared at me. Meg asked the questions. 'Where's Daddy? When is he coming home? Why did he go?' Jude pretended like Julian didn't exist. But Davis … Davis took it so hard. One night, months after the divorce proceedings started, Davis came to my room in the middle of the night. I've always told them they could come to me anytime, especially late at night. My parents never did that for me, and I suffered in my room so much when I was little, scared of the monster in my closet or the dark or whatever, and I was not going to let my children suffer the same way."

Owen smiled, at the strength of the woman who continued to slowly pace in front of him.

"It was three in the morning, and Davis came to me. He had these dark circles under his eyes, and he'd gotten in trouble at school again that day, for not doing his homework for the third time. It was so unlike him, but we just attributed it to the fact that his father had just left."

Brooke shook her head, finally stopping, turning to face Owen. Tears were in her dark eyes.

"He woke me up, and I looked at him, my baby boy, and I had never seen such pain in his eyes. I sat up, taking hold of his hand, and he—he told me he couldn't do it anymore. He was trying to be strong, trying to carry it all on his little shoulders. He looked at me, and asked me what he'd done wrong. I will never—ever—forget the way his voice sounded."

* * *

"_Mama. Mama, wake up."_

_ Brooke blinked widely, opening her eyes, closing them again on a yawn. She blinked them open again, looking to the side of the bed, and Davis stood there, in a gray t-shirt and the Ninja Turtle pajama pants that he'd rolled his eyes at when he opened them on his birthday. Brooke had known better, though, and sure enough, Davis had nearly the worn the pants out. Brooke yawned again, glancing at the clock._

"_Baby, what are you doing up so late?"  
"I can't … I can't sleep."_

_ She looked at him then, sitting up as she really_ looked_ at him._

"_Honey, how long has it been since you slept?"_

_ Davis shrugged his shoulders, and Brooke's mouth fell open._

"_Davis—"  
"Mama, I can't … I can't do this anymore."_

_ A worried look came over her face as Davis' breathing sped up._

"_I'm just—I'm so tired, Mama. And I can't sleep. And I don't know—I'm trying to be brave. I'm trying not to bother you, because I don't want you to cry anymore, but Mama… I just can't."  
"Baby, baby. Hey."_

_ She reached over, taking Davis' hands, dropping one and gently brushing the hair back from his face._

"_Sweetheart. You're not bothering me. You can always come to me, for anything at all. It doesn't matter what it is; you won't be bothering me."_

_ Tears were in Davis' eyes when he looked back to his mother's eyes._

"_Why did he leave?"_

_ Brooke's hand stilled on Davis' forehead. His voice was barely a whisper._

"_What did I do, Mama? Was I bad? I didn't mean to be. I know I fight with Jude and Meg a lot, but I'll—I'll stop. I can be good, Mama. I can—"_

_ She leaned over and pulled him to her, wrapping her arms around him, letting out a sob when he squeezed her with all his ten-year-old strength. Brooke cried, because there was nothing else she could do. This was breaking her heart, even more than it was already broken. She felt Davis' tears soaking her shoulder, and they just stayed that way, holding each other and crying, until Brooke could speak again._

"_Davis James Baker. You listen to me."_

_ He leaned back, rubbing a hand over his eyes, bringing the red-rimmed, tear-filled blue eyes to meet Brooke's. She reached out, cradling his face in her hands._

"_You did nothing wrong. You and your brother and your sister are the best things in this entire world. Your dad and I love you more than you could ever even begin to know."  
"Then why did he leave?"_

_ Brooke sighed._

"_It's grown-up stuff, baby."  
"But you guys are always saying that we need to stop fighting and act right, and if we'd just done that, if we'd just listened to you—"  
"Stop it. Davis."_

_ She lifted his chin, forcing him to look at her again._

"_Honey, you're just kids. You know what kids do?"_

_ He lifted and dropped his shoulders, making Brooke smile._

"_They fight. They fight with their brothers and sisters and drive their parents crazy, and we swear if you'd just calm down and act right… But you know what?"_

_ He looked down, and Brooke leaned in._

"_Can I tell you a secret?"_

_ Davis nodded._

"_I think I would just hate it if you guys all listened and acted right."_

_ Davis looked back to her, blue eyes wide. Brooke smiled, lifting a hand to cup his cheek._

"_You're just kids. You're supposed to fight with each other and not listen to a word I say and do the complete opposite of what I'd like you to do. You're supposed to drive me crazy, and in a weird way I still haven't figured out, that keeps me sane."_

_ She smiled, reaching up to ruffle his hair._

"_I don't want some good, obedient, robot kids. I want my wild little Megan. I want my quiet Jude, and I want my rowdy Davis back."_

_ He looked down again, and Brooke sighed._

"_I know it's hard. I know you don't understand, and I wish I could help you. But I want you to listen closely. It is not your fault that your dad left. You didn't do anything wrong. Sometimes … Sometimes people just need some space."  
"Do you think he'll ever come back?"_

_ Brooke swallowed, looking down at her bedspread, then letting out a breath._

"_No, honey. No, I don't think he will."_

_ Davis' face crumpled, and Brooke reached out, pulling him back into her arms as he cried. He climbed up on the bed, curling up beside his mother, as she held him, stroking his hair and letting him cry. After a while, once Davis' sobs had quieted to intermittent hiccups, he spoke quietly._

"_It wasn't my fault?"_

_ Brooke didn't answer, and Davis leaned back, looking up at her._

"_I didn't do something to make Dad leave?"_

_ Brooke shook her head, and Davis let out a sigh._

"_I just … I thought I had. I thought I'd done something, and if I could—if I could just figure out what it was, I could say I was sorry, or fix it, and he'd come back."  
"Oh, baby. No."_

_ Davis sighed, leaning to rest his head against Brooke's shoulder as she gently rubbed his back._

"_No one did anything wrong. It is not your fault, and it's not Meg's or Jude's. Do not take the blame for this, Davis, because it's not your burden to carry."_

_ Davis nodded, letting out a long sigh. Brooke ran her hands through his hair as he yawned so widely a tremor ran through his body._

"_You haven't been sleeping."_

_ Davis shook his head, and Brooke sighed._

"_How long?"_

_ He shrugged his shoulders, speaking softly._

"_Since Dad left."_

_ Brooke squeezed her eyes shut._

"_You better listen to me, dude. Do not ever do this again. You come and talk to me, do you understand?"_

_ Davis nodded, and Brooke sighed._

"_No school for you tomorrow."  
"Mom?"  
"You need to rest, honey. Go on to sleep. I'll be right here."  
"Mama, I—"_

_ She smiled._

"_I won't tell anyone you had to come and sleep with your mom."  
"I'm not a little kid."_

_ Brooke smiled at the sleep-heavy grumble Davis gave. He rolled onto his side, letting out a sigh as Brooke covered him with the sheet and the comforter, and he was out. Brooke sighed, leaning over to run her fingers through his hair._

"_My sweet boy. My sweet, tenderhearted little boy."_

_ She shook her head as tears filled her eyes again, and she stayed up, watching over her son as he slept soundly for the first time in months._

* * *

Brooke blinked her eyes as she felt Owen's hand on her arm. She looked to it, then to him, and he lifted a hand to her face, his thumb wiping away tears she hadn't realized she was crying.

"He slept for twenty-four hours. I made him get up and eat, go to the bathroom, but he'd fall right back in bed. He was ten years old, Owen, and he … I should have known this was coming this time."

Owen tilted his head to the side, and Brooke shook her head, leaning forward to press her forehead to Owen's chest.

"I don't know how to deal with this."

Owen ran a hand through her dark hair.

"You're doing fine, Brooke."  
"I don't feel like I am."  
"Trust me, babe. You are."

She leaned back to look at him, and he smiled.

"They're good kids, Brooke. All of them. This is an impossible situation, but it's going to get better. I don't know when and I don't know how, but I know that it will."

Brooke smiled, going to her tiptoes, pressing her lips to Owen's.

"Thank you. And thank you for being here. Not just for me, but for my kids, too."  
"It's my pleasure."

Brooke sighed.

"I should go help him pack."

Owen nodded.

"I'll see myself out."

He kissed her one more time, walking with her to the stairs, watching her go up a few.

"Hey, Brooke?"

She stopped, turning back to him.

"You know you can call me anytime, right? No matter how late."

She smiled, looking down, then nodding. Owen nodded back, letting out a breath as he turned and opened the door.

"Hey, Owen?"

He glanced behind him, seeing the dimples on her cheeks.

"Thank you. For everything."

He grinned.

"No trouble at all, Ms. Davis."

He pulled the door shut behind him, and Brooke let out a sigh, making her way up the steps. She stopped in the doorway of Davis' room, smiling when she saw Jude sitting on the floor, leaning his head back on the bed, where Meg was sitting cross-legged, playing with Jude's too-long hair. Davis walked back and forth from the dresser to the closet to the bed, placing different things in the suitcase that was open beside Meg. Brooke nodded and smiled as she quietly walked away.

* * *

Late that night, Brooke felt a little hand shaking her awake.

"Mama? Are you asleep?"

Brooke smiled as she rolled over, blinking sleepy eyes until Meg came into focus. Brooke glanced at the clock, then yawned.

"What are you doing up so late, princess?"

Meg yawned, rubbing her eyes.

"I had a bad dream."

Brooke sat up, flipping on the lamp on her nightstand.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Meg shook her head.

"Can I stay with you?"

Brooke smiled, nodding her head as she pulled the blankets back for Meg to climb in bed with her. Meg climbed in beside her, snuggling up next to her, jumping when a loud crack of thunder sounded. Brooke glanced towards her window, saw the rain pelting the glass.

"Goodness. How long has that been going on?"  
"A while."

Meg yawned again, and Brooke smiled, leaning over to turn the lamp off. She stopped short, letting her arm drop as she leaned farther over.

"Jude?"

He stepped around the doorframe, rubbing the back of his head with one hand. Meg sat up, and Jude shrugged his shoulders.

"I wasn't sleeping, and I heard Meg get up."  
"Yeah, me too."

Jude jumped when Davis appeared seemingly out of nowhere behind him. Jude let out a breath, punching his brother on the arm as Davis, Meg, and Brooke laughed.

"Don't do that! You scared the crap out of me."

Meg was doubled over in the bed, and Brooke couldn't help but laugh, too. Thunder cracked outside again, and Meg scooted closer to Brooke. Brooke smiled, running a hand through Meg's dark hair. Brooke looked to her boys, neither of whom would look at her. Meg finally leaned backwards, until she met Brooke's eyes.

"I think they want to stay with us, Mama."  
"Oh, come on."  
"No!"

Brooke bit her lip, nodding her head at the twins' refusals, until Jude sighed, glancing back at Davis. Davis shrugged, and Brooke let out a sigh.

"Come on, you two."  
"I won't tell anybody."

Jude narrowed his eyes at Meg, who just giggled as she snuggled closer to Brooke. Brooke reached to turn off the light as Jude and Davis climbed into the big bed, Davis reaching over and tickling Meg's feet. They all laid down, Brooke pulling the covers up, laying back, opening her eyes as a strong hand gripped hers. She sat up just a bit, looking to see Meg already asleep, Davis drifting right behind her, and Jude staring back at her, dark eyes wide and full of emotion. Brooke smiled softly, squeezing Jude's hand. She whispered quietly.

"It's going to be okay, honey."

He nodded, laying his head on the pillow, keeping hold of his mother's hand. She watched him until his eyes grew heavy. She stayed awake until she felt Jude's grip finally loosen, as he slid into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

**"Once upon a time, I was falling in love. Now, I'm only falling apart."  
_Total Eclipse of the Heart_, Bonnie Tyler**

Sawyer walked in the house, pulling the door closed silently behind her. She shook like a wet dog would, trying to get the rain off her shoulders and hair, and gripped the counter as an overwhelming sensation of nausea gripped her. She waited a moment, then walked to the trashcan and spit out the wad of spearmint gum she'd hastily shoved in her mouth, trying to override the smell of the alcohol on her breath. She gripped the trashcan for just a second, doing her best not to throw up in it. Once the nausea had passed, she stumbled into the living room, rolling her eyes when she saw her father asleep in his chair, an empty glass still in his hand.

"I'm not drunk enough for this."

She walked over, shaking his shoulder, speaking softly.

"Dad. Dad, get up."

Lucas blinked bleary eyes open, looking up at his daughter as she took the glass from him, missing the table once before she set it down.

"Sawyer?"  
"Come on, Dad. Let's get you to bed."

He looked around the room for a second, then back to her.

"Sawyer, you smell like a brewery."  
"No, Dad. That's you. Come on."

She helped Lucas to his feet, both of them swaying, Sawyer doing her best not to throw up everywhere. She gained her balance after a moment, and slowly led her father down the hall. He shook his head when she started walking towards the master bedroom, and Sawyer let out a sigh as she turned, helping Lucas into the guest room instead. She sat him down on the bed, then pushed her hands through her hair.

"Go to sleep, Dad."  
"Sawyer, I … I'm sorry."  
"Yeah, me too. Just go to sleep."

Lucas nodded, rolling over and clutching a pillow as he passed out again. Sawyer shook her head, grabbing a blanket and draping it over him. She made her way back to the door, looking at Lucas, shaking her head again. She pulled the door shut behind her, walking back to the kitchen, digging around until she found the place Lucas had tried to hide the … whiskey, this time. Before, Sawyer would pour it down the sink, crying, praying this time would be the last time she'd have to do it.

Now, though, she turned the bottle up, drinking greedily, closing her eyes at the burn of the whiskey down her throat. She finished off the bottle, setting it gently in the bottom of the trash, one hand on the wall as she made her way back to her room. It took her a long time to wrestle her shirt over her head, and she did her best not to throw up everywhere. She dug in different drawers for pajamas before she decided to just give up, crawling into bed in her bra and underwear. She pulled the covers up around her, glancing around the dark room, letting out a shuddering sigh before pulling the covers over her head.


End file.
